"Guess where I'm going tonight," I said to an old friend. "Villa di Roma. Remember we had your ___ birthday there?" "Oh God," she replied, "I haven't been there in years." Well, truth to tell, neither had I, lured away from its proletarian charms by Northern Italian cuisine: by Toto's, by the Senas, and finally, by Marc Vetri. So I was returning to the scene of many happy past evenings, walking the rain-damp streets of Little Italy, smelling the unmistakable scents that are impregnated in the atmosphere. There I was, at Villa di Roma, and if I and my friends had not been there for awhile, many others had come to fill in the gap. I walked in to a bar that was three-deep in happy patrons, told Domenic DeLuca, the retired proprietor, that my party was complete, and we sat down in one of the two dining rooms that flank the bar.

Nothing had changed—the same brick walls with paintings of neighborhood purveyors, the same chatty, friendly waitresses, the same desultory wine list, from which we were able to salvage a Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, the same bread of dubious parentage (it is not La Cascia's, I'm sure). When we asked the waitress to brighten up the olive oil for dipping, she brought back a dish that was so spicy and garlicky that they should bottle it. The menu is filled with choices of pasta, veal, chicken, a little seafood and a little steak. There's even a separate list for "sausage," which is right above the notation "Gravy to Go!" Yes, we were back where they call red sauce "gravy" and it felt really good.

THE BIG TIME: The veal parmigiana, with eggplant and spaghetti, is just one example of Villa di Roma's favorites, which always come in gargantuan proportions. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

We ordered the Villa Salad, which is really a Milan Salad, but I don't know which one came first. No matter, it was very crisp, and full of all the right ingredients—hard-boiled egg, tomato, bacon, etc., and the dressing had the proper portion of Russian dressing to give it creaminess. It was fine, and then we had to have the mussels, because everybody has mussels here, and they were fine too, fat and sassy, with the marinara sauce ideal for dipping.

Something new appeared to me—fried asparagus—so we had them also, and were pleasantly surprised. Asparagus spears, dipped in bread crumbs and parmesan, then lightly fried, stayed crisp to the bite, and the butter sauce beneath them did not make them soggy.

When it was entree time, a companion and I stuck to veal, reasoning that since they probably do all their shopping in the neighborhood, it's got to be good. And so it was—in gargantuan portions. My veal parmigiana with eggplant was a great slab of breaded veal, doused with a marinara sauce and slices of eggplant, and finished off with mozzarella cheese melting all over it. And, oh yes, a side of spaghetti too. It was a dish my father used to love, so how could I not love it as well? The veal pizzaiola parmigiana was simply a scallopini of tender veal, peppers and mushrooms, sauced with a spicier tomato sauce, and wearing a mantle of melted mozzarella. My companion cleaned his plate, spaghetti and all. So many dishes, with so many different names, but what really is true is that the dish is only as good or as interesting as the ingredients. You can count on everything being fresh and top quality, with Sonny D'Angelo and Esposito's right across the way. And where else do you find a restaurant that lists two styles of chicken livers?

Dessert in an Italian restaurant is seldom their finest hour, but when the cannolis come from Isgro, and are made with ricotta cheese, even the Godfather would smile. The tartufo too, though it is a far cry from the famed one on the Piazza Navone, is commercial but very pleasing. It is vanilla and chocolate ice cream, wrapped around a brandied cherry and then dipped in chocolate. Not bad at all, and a welcome change from tiramisu.

Though lately I only seem to go to South Philly for the restrained delicacies at Nido, or the antipasto and other goodies at L'Angolo, tonight I was pleased to have a little abbondonza. Chatting with Lisa, our very friendly waitress, I commented on how crowded the restaurant was. Was it a special night? I asked. "Honey," she laughed, "it's like this every night!"

Villa Di Roma

932-36 S. Ninth St., 215-592-1295

No wheelchair access. Smoking permitted in bar area only. Reservations accepted except on Saturday. Cash only.